


Expectations

by TooOftenObsessed



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Engagement, F/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-06-13 01:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooOftenObsessed/pseuds/TooOftenObsessed
Summary: Following the events of the S5 Christmas Special. Mrs. Hughes fears that she and Mr. Carson might not have the same idea about what their new arrangement means.





	1. Expectation

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this first chapter immediately after the s5 Christmas special, and then when s6 rolled around I found out that Julian Fellowes flat out stole my story! ;) Only kidding, of course. I intended there to be 5 chapters and let it lapse on FF.net, so I thought maybe cross-posting here and attempting to schedule new chapter posts would encourage me to get the thing done at last. I promise deliver the wedding night by the end of August, at which point the rating will change to E.

It had been months. Two, nearly three, and nothing had changed. She didn’t want a change, not really, not much. There was only one thing that was missing, and she found (to her modest surprise) that she could not do without.

She glanced down the hallway, and saw that no one was paying any attention to her. Not that they would have thought anything if they had been; she spent almost every evening in the butler’s pantry, and not to go in would have been a disruption of routine. She stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind her. Carson was reading the evening paper, apparently engrossed. He looked up at the sound of the door closing. 

“Ah, Mrs. Hughes. Everything is settled, I take it?”

“Yes, the family are all gone to bed, and Daisy and Mrs. Patmore are finishing up in the kitchen.”

“Excellent. I like a quiet evening, don’t you?” He smiled at her a little, and she paused, a small frown on her face. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Hughes?” She was quiet a moment longer.

“I’m not so sure that it is, Mr. Carson. I’m afraid that our… arrangement… may not have been made with the same intentions on both sides.” She pursed her lips, afraid of his reaction. He folded the paper and placed it on the table at his side. 

“I am sorry to hear that, Mrs. Hughes, but I am not sure quite what you mean.” 

She walked closer to him, holding his eyes as he looked up at her from his seated position. Quickly, before she lost her nerve, Elsie reached out and held his chin in her hand. She leaned forward and lightly, chastely, touched her lips to his. There was no heat in this kiss, no passion, not a hint of the emotional storm that was raging within her. She had crossed a line that he would not, could not, have crossed himself, and there was no way to know if he would now beat a hasty retreat. 

Carson made no sound, nor did he move, and after only a moment Elsie pulled away. She stood as tall and straight as she ever did, but her cheeks betrayed her with a dull pink flush.

“Mr. Carson, if you are planning on a lifetime of quiet evenings, companionable fireside chats followed by a cordial retreat to separate bedrooms, then perhaps we had better call the whole thing off.” He looked away from her, breaking eye contact for the first time since he’d looked up from his paper, and he slowly stood, staring at the floor.

“Mrs. Hughes, if I have given offence, I must beg your forgiveness.” She rolled her eyes, waiting for the rest of his ridiculously formal apology. It did not come. Instead, he gently touched her elbow, and haltingly leaned in to place a rather clumsy kiss on the corner of her mouth. He stepped back, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the floorboards just behind her left foot, and said nothing. 

She ducked into his line of sight, catching his eyes again, and smiled a cheeky smile to hide her relief.

“That’ll do just fine, Mr. Carson. Care for some sherry?” Without waiting for an answer, she went to the cupboard for the glasses.

“I would.” He sighed, apparently relieved as well. “Mrs. Hughes?” She looked back over her shoulder at him. He cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should leave talk of… ah… bedrooms… separate or otherwise… for a later date.” She smiled broadly.

“Of course, Mr. Carson.”


	2. Temptation

As always, Carson heard the jingle of her keys before he saw her. It felt strange, not to have to suppress the way his heart leapt in advance her arrival. It was somewhat disconcerting to feel jittery in her presence, given that they had been close friends and confidantes for years, but it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant sensation. Still, he rather wished his pulse would slow a bit.

Although he had proposed the idea of marriage to her, he had done so out of desperation. Mrs. Patmore's quaint little house had stirred in him pleasant thoughts of his own retirement. It was only when he realized that retirement meant not only no more work, but no more butler's pantry in which to regularly converse with Mrs. Hughes, that he came up with his joint-investment idea. He had been able to lie to himself while they were looking at houses, telling himself it was nothing more than a pragmatic business venture to be undertaken with a trusted friend, but when Mrs. Hughes revealed the extent of her financial burden to her sister, it had sparked in him a panic that could not be quelled.

Still, he had convinced himself that marriage was only sensible, refusing to acknowledge the honest fact that life without Elsie Hughes held absolutely no appeal to him, regardless of how comfortably situated he was. When she had accepted his offer, he had been relieved, but a few of her words had haunted him.

" _I thought you'd never ask."_

What did that mean? She had seemed happy, but was it the happiness of a woman in love? He doubted that it could be so. One of the things he valued most in her - loved most, though how could he admit that to himself? - was her absolute realism, her down-to-earth solidity. Elsie Hughes was not a woman prone to flights of fancy, nor who was easily taken in by romance. So, her pleasure must have been due to her newfound future security and her words meant that she had, as usual, discovered the perfect solution well before he did.

How wrong he had been. How completely, joyously wrong.

He felt another pleasant wave of nerves as he recalled their exchange of a few nights past. She had come into his pantry and turned the world from merely comfortable into something he had thought far beyond his grasp. He did his best to hide a smile as he thought of his last, uncharacteristically bold words to her. _Bedrooms, separate or otherwise._

"Oh my, what's that smile of yours all about?" Her quick, steady step carried her through the doorway just at that moment, and he flushed. "Never you mind, Mr. Carson. It's none of my affair." She smiled to match the levity in her voice. Since that night, he had been unable to hold her gaze, favoring the floor, his cup of tea or a newspaper to the almost nauseating sweetness that clenched around his heart when he looked in her eyes.

Tonight, he forced himself to look at her.  Her eyes held his for a moment. The sharp tang of embarrassment was slowly replaced by that almost constant buzz of nerves, leaving him struggling to speak normally.

"It’s nothing, Mrs. Hughes. I was just lost in a pleasant memory." She laughed, seeming self-conscious, and turned away, shutting the door quietly and moving to the cupboard for their glasses. He admired her while her back was turned, finding comfort in the precision of her movements. Long before he loved her - and he must admit, he did love her - he had taken comfort in her reliability, her efficiency, and her discretion. She held both glasses in one hand, a bottle in the other, and set all three on the little table by his door.

She pulled the stopper and poured, her head bent over her task. As Carson stood to join her, he found himself admiring the nape of her neck, and almost without thinking, placed his hand there. She jumped, knocking a half-full glass off the table and sending it smashing to the carpet.

“Oh, Mr. Carson, I am so sorry, here…” She set down the bottle and grabbed a rag.   


“No, no, Mrs. Hughes, please, allow me.” He took the rag from her and began blotting at the pool of scarlet that was spreading across the floor. “You go on to bed now; I’ll take care of it.” He refused to look at her, lest she see the shame burning across his cheeks and ears.

“It’s not like me, to be so clumsy, Mr. Carson.” He still couldn’t look up.

“Of course it isn’t, you’ll be alright in the morning.” He hated himself for the dismissal he heard in his own voice.

“Good night, then, Mr. Carson.” He couldn’t decipher her tone.

“Good night, Mrs. Hughes.”

He couldn’t sleep, even though he’d gotten to bed later than usual after cleaning up the spill. He knew, or thought he knew, that she was angry with him. She would be cold, distant, and all too formal. She always made it crystal clear when he was in the wrong, and he knew he had to formulate an apology as soon as possible. Perhaps he could still mitigate some of the damage if he acted quickly.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of her warm skin and soft hair under his fingertips.


	3. Consternation

Elsie closed the door to the butler's pantry, moving through the downstairs hallway as quickly - and quietly - as decorum would allow. Mrs. Patmore was almost certainly still up and about in the kitchen, and Beryl would catch Elsie's distress immediately if she saw her. The tough little cook had a far keener eye than her appearance let on, and Elsie suspected that this was an appearance that Mrs. Patmore cultivated quite on purpose. Nevertheless, Elsie didn't want to speak about Charles Carson to anyone. Not yet.

As she climbed the stairs to head up to the attics, Elsie mulled over what had happened in the pantry. She couldn't fathom why Mr. Carson had sent her away, when they could have had the mess cleared away in a matter of minutes, if that long. It hadn't even reached the rug, so there was that much less work to do. At any other time, at least in the past, he'd have let her help as a matter of course. Now, unfortunately, something had  _ changed _ between them. And not the something that Elsie had wanted.

Elsie Hughes had prided herself on her relative independence for her entire adult life. She had made herself into the housekeeper of one of the most prominent families in the country, and she wasn't about to give that up to become a housewife. Caring for a house that she had been given because of a marriage would have felt completely artificial to her. Downton was her home because she gave it something worthwhile, and it valued her in return. She had earned her place at Downton; anything else would feel like cheating. It was why she had turned down Joe Burns' proposal over ten years previously.

Well, that might be half true. Upon closer examination of her feelings at the time, she was surprised to realize that there was a significant underlying factor in her refusal. Buried beneath her staunch pragmatism was the tiniest sliver of an objection to the match, on the grounds that she was in love with someone else.

Elsie heaved out a sigh and unzipped her dress, stepping out of it carefully and draping it over the chair at her vanity. She quickly divested herself of that hated corset - why did everyone else in the bloody house get to be free of them? - and settled into the chair to braid her hair. It was almost embarrassing to think of the years during which she had successfully lied to herself, had convinced herself that her attraction to the tall, stern butler had stemmed only from an unusually potent brand of professional respect. She let out a tiny chuckle to think of her young self, dogging his heels at every turn, learning how to soothe his temper and provoke his frustration without seeming uncouth. Professional respect, indeed. The fondness she had for his rich baritone stemmed from the moment they met, to be sure.

But he could be so terribly frustrating. Her smile faded as she heard the door to his room shut down the hall. She caught her own eye in the mirror and saw the crease between her brows deepen as she remembered his hurried dismissal downstairs. She tasted the sharp, familiar tang of annoyance, and hurriedly stood, blowing out the candle and changing into her nightclothes. He could be so terribly, terribly dense.

Settling into bed, she sighed heavily and closed her eyes. Every time she began to drift, the anger would find a way to resurface and she would have to roll over, unable to stay comfortable. So, she turned to an old standby. She let herself sink deep into a memory, one that always calmed her when she was having trouble sleeping. It was the image of Mr. Carson, polishing silver, and singing merrily to himself.

" _ Dashing away with the smoothing iron, she stole my heart away. _ "

She began to fall asleep in earnest, and as she did, the sweetness of his song mingled with the sense of his warm fingers gently touching the back of her neck.


	4. Reconciliation

Carson slept fitfully, waking almost an hour before his usual time. Though he was tired, his decades as butler had trained him to all but ignore his own fatigue in the service of his duties. Besides, the restless hours he had spent staring into the darkness of his room had not been wasted; he knew exactly what he must to do rectify the situation with Mrs. Hughes. A first-rate apology was in order. He had violated the space of the most profoundly civilized woman he had ever known. She had encouraged him to entertain the idea of physical contact  _ after marriage _ , and he had responded like a hormone-driven youth. It was embarrassing to compare his private thoughts, tending almost to the inappropriate, with the perfectly chaste and respectable kiss she had bestowed upon him to make her point.

He touched his lips, as lightly as she had kissed him, and briefly allowed his eyes to close as he thought of that all-too-brief treasure. His chest tightened as he remembered the hot surge of pride he had felt in standing to kiss her, the power and protectiveness that made him want to draw her tiny frame into his arms and shield her from the rest of the world. But Elsie Hughes was not a woman to be shielded.

Abruptly, he sat up in bed, taking a few deep breaths. It was enough to know that he might have that feeling waiting for him in the future. For now, he would apologize for his uncharacteristic impropriety. She would forgive him, though it was likely not to be done without a scolding. He smiled to himself in the pale light of down, hearing that charming brogue amplified in his mind. Her accent always delighted him, even when - no,  _ especially _ when, though he'd never dare admit it - she was angry.

"Mr. Carson, I don't know where you got the impression that I am a foolish maiden who would consider her virtue sold in exchange for a marriage agreement, but I'll have you know that I should never take part in such a bargain. I am sorely disappointed to discover that you are the type of man who would." He sighed heavily, and vowed again to make it right.

..........

Carson had just set out two cups and a kettle of tea when he heard Mrs. Hughes descending the stairs down the hall. She was up as early as he was, it seemed. Perhaps it was his imagination, but to his ears her very footsteps seemed irritated. He braced himself, fingertips resting lightly on the table, and focused his gaze on the doorway. When she came in, she pivoted on her heel and closed the door almost before Carson could blink. He had the vaguest impression of a whirl of skirts and keys before she was standing before him, her gaze burning into his, an expectant and angry look on her face.

"I..." He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. "I owe you an apology." Without looking up, he heard her take a half step forward.

"I should say you do!" He held up a hand, looking at her as calmly as he could, and she stepped back, folding her arms.

"I overstepped." He had spent half the night searching for the right word to describe his indiscretion. "I never wanted to take advantage of our arrangement, nor did I want to make you feel disrespected in any way. You are the sort of woman who deserves only the highest class of man, and I am ashamed to have made myself into the kind of person who should be beneath your notice. I am ashamed of my behavior, and I understand your outrage. I am very sorry to have made you uncomfortable. I do hope you will forgive me.”

She stared at him for a moment, motionless, before she she rolled her eyes, and dramatically placed both hands on her forehead, pulling her eyebrows up toward her hairline.

"Mr. Carson, this is daft, even for you." Startled, he began to bluster out an incoherent response, but she cut him off with a quick swipe of her hand through the air. "I'm not angry with you for startling me - and that's all you did,  _ startle  _ me - I'm angry with you for sending me upstairs last night. For heaven's sake," she looked to one side, biting her lip. When she resumed speaking, her voice was almost too quiet to hear. "I'm afraid you'll think less of me, think me wanton." She looked up to meet his gaze, her eyes shining, and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. "I'd have let the spill run out under the door for everyone to see if you'd kept touching me last night."

And then he was holding her, folding her into his arms and running his fingers up the nape of her neck and into her hair. She was so small, so precious, and so his.

"Oh my dear, I could never, ever think less of you. You are by far the finest woman I could ever hope to know." She laughed against his chest, and rested her hands against the lapels of his jacket, gazing up at him with naked adoration.

"Mr. Carson, you can't know how marvelous you really are." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Even if you are a bit thick at times." He kissed her then, softly, and after a moment he risked moving his lips against hers. He tried to pull back, to look at her and make sure she was alright, but her hands were on his shoulders, hoisting herself onto her toes to try to meet his eyes herself. She put a hand on his cheek, drawing him back, and she kissed him with her lips almost parted. He slid his arm around her waist, relishing the shape of her and damning the hard corset separating them at the same time. He stopped to breathe, and the sight of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes was enough to make his breath catch and blood run hotter than before. He took a risk then, pressing his lips against the side of her neck, and was gratified to hear the tiniest gasp escape her usual iron discipline. He rested his cheek on hers and sighed, taking a moment to breathe.

"Perhaps it is time for us to speak to the family." He spoke quietly, deliberately, but let his voice deepen into a soft rumble. She shivered, and it pleased him to know that the timbre of his voice had affected her as deeply as the meaning of his words.

"Though," he met her eyes, letting a touch of humor creep into his expression. "I might not disapprove of finding my wife a little wanton."


	5. Consummation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to get this finished, but I was incredibly concerned with getting their voices right. I started the fic back before season 6 premiered, but since I didn't write the wedding night chapter until after that episode had aired, I made this one canon-compliant. I don't think it's too terribly jarring. I hope you enjoy, and I thank you so much for your patience. 
> 
> Also, in case the chapter title didn't clue you in, this is where the fic goes to E! :)

They stood in the shower of petals, and he kissed her. He kissed her in front of God, the village, and Lady Mary. He kissed her, and as he did so she touched the ring he had given her with her thumb.  _ With this ring, I thee wed. _ The smooth metal reassured her that he was finally hers. But just before his lips left hers, his voice echoed in her mind again.  _ With my body I thee worship. _ She felt an almost sickening wave of warmth rush from her heart to her belly, and bit back a gasp as her eyes flew open and met his. She smiled tightly, afraid that she had betrayed herself entirely, at least to him, but he took her hand and turned to the waiting crowd without a moment’s pause.

Elsie Hughes - she could never give up that name, not really - drifted down the path toward the schoolhouse, smiling and nodding a quiet thanks to the well-wishers they passed along the way. She felt nothing but the sun on her face and the comforting grasp of her husband’s hand dwarfing her own. The joy she felt was of a muted, stunned sort, and it was run through with an undercurrent of something else entirely as those words buried themselves deeper into the core of her being.

Before she knew it, they were at the schoolhouse, and she was revived by a glass of punch. A deeper clarity emerged once the groom had removed himself to greet their guests, and Elsie was left to shake herself out of her reverie. Before long, Mrs. Patmore had sidled up to where Elsie stood, and the cook raised her glass and smiled, letting a hint of smugness creep onto her features. 

“Would you call me a liar if I said I knew this day would come?” Elsie shot a hasty glance at Mr. Carson, but he was speaking to Lord Grantham and took no notice.

“I would, and I do, Beryl Patmore!” They laughed like schoolgirls, and Elsie felt quite young in that moment, younger than she had in years. 

“Well, I’m happy for you, you do know that. However,” Mrs. Patmore raised her voice half an octave and lifted her chin, giving the appearance of a highly proper garden gnome, “I do expect a full report with regards to your honeymoon…” here she paused for dramatic effect, “activities.”  

“Will you  _ be quiet _ !” hissed Mrs. Hughes, casting another hasty glance at Mr. Carson. She was relieved to see that he was still basking in congratulations. Beryl laughed again. 

“You’re in for it now, see if I’m wrong.” Elsie shook her head and walked away, taking her place at her husband’s side. Once again, she found herself giving thanks by rote, too distracted to properly engage with her guests. The gold band resting on the fourth finger of her left hand seemed to have unlocked an entirely new realm of anticipation.

She had very, very little experience. It had been years since she had felt attractive or desirable, and her boldness at approaching Mr. Carson with regard to his expectations regarding the marriage suddenly felt even more foolish (and exhilarating) than it had before.

Mr. Carson asked for everyone’s attention, and he toasted her, saying words that struck deep into the core of her being, making her feel the depth of his love in the way that nothing else had.

Yet.

* * *

They paused outside their room at the Savoy. Their luggage had been carried up by the porter, and Carson made a move as if to pick her up. She shook her head and laughed.

“Oh no, I won’t have you laid up with a back injury before we’ve even left Yorkshire!” He looked so crestfallen that she patted his cheek before stepping lightly into the room, hiding a smile. She slipped her gloves off and laid them on the vanity table. She pulled the pin from her hair and laid her hat over the top of the gloves, taking a moment to breathe before turning to face Mr. Carson.

The look on his face made her grateful to have had something to do with her hands. He stood with his shoulders hunched, hands swinging loosely at his sides, and he appeared to be casting about for an occupation and finding none. The sight of his nervous fidgeting made her heart leap into her throat; it reminded her of every time that his persistent social discomfort had tickled her into a private fit of giggles, shared with Mrs. Patmore while he blustered away. She touched her ring, and heard his words echo through her mind yet again.

_ With my body, I thee worship. _

Elsie Hughes had a slightly vague idea as to what is meant to happen between lovers; her shadowy mental images had been formed from the scant few racy novels she had passed around with her young cohort as a housemaid. Certainly, she understood the appeal. The brief, stolen kisses of her youth had been confusing and unsatisfying, but the way Charles Carson kissed her made her feel, in a very physical sense, the deep truth of his marriage vows. 

However deeply he might feel for her, it was becoming ever more clear that she would have to lead the way, as she almost always did. She smiled to herself again, remembering the time she had directed him to plan a seaside holiday for the staff. He had held her hand that day, under a rather daring pretense from her, and now she had the freedom to touch him at will. And she would. She shrugged out of her borrowed overcoat and turned to drape it over the armchair in the corner. 

“Mr. Carson,” she said quietly, startling him out of his self-conscious reverie. “I was wondering if you would mind helping me for a moment.” 

“Of course, Mrs. Carson.” Elsie couldn’t help wondering if her new name sounded as strange to him as it did to her. To his credit, he didn’t falter in speaking it, as so many of their friends and colleagues had done this afternoon. However, considering the fact that they were alone in a bedroom on their wedding night, it was time to move things along. He hadn’t moved toward her, so she slowly walked to him and took his hands to stop his fidgeting. 

“Charles, could you help me off with my dress? The buttons in the back… Anna and Miss Baxter helped me into it this morning.” He nodded, his eyes wide and serious, and she turned around, tipping her head forward to that the topmost button wouldn’t be concealed by her hair. Determined not to let him grow somber, she kept her voice light. “Never in all my years,” she didn’t let her voice waver as his nervous fingers undid the first button, then the second, “did I expect to be woken on my wedding day by two ladies maids from the greatest house in Yorkshire, let alone dressed by them. I couldn’t quite believe it; I almost felt like a proper lady.” 

His fingers ceased their work on her buttons, then skated across the nape of her neck before nestling lightly into her hair. His left hand caught hers, and he turned her around to face him. Her heart leapt into her throat; the look on his face was like nothing she had ever seen there before. It was a deep, dark look, one she could lose herself in, and she felt her control slip away. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, his lips grazing the ring he had placed there earlier. Then he turned her hand over and kissed her palm, sending a wave of heat from one end of her body to the other. She gasped a little when he kissed the pulse point on her wrist, and he glanced up quickly. The question in his eyes morphed back into that dark confidence once he saw her face, and he smiled.

“My darling Elsie, you are the greatest woman I have ever known, lady or not.” She might have blushed from embarrassment, had she not already been flushed from his attentions. 

“And you, Charles, are a finer man than I ever hoped to meet,” she laughed a little, “let alone marry!” 

“Enough of that now,” he said softly, caressing her fingers and drawing her close. She rested her head against his chest, breathing in the scent of him, and tried to brace herself for what was to come. 

He took her face in both his hands and kissed her far too gently, but before she realized what was happening he had reached behind her and he unclasped the remaining buttons on her dress. His lips broke from hers as his fingers slid up her throat and under her collar, moving the loosened fabric aside. He rested his cheek on hers, one arm surrounding her waist, and breathed in the scent of her hair. 

“Oh my darling, I love you so,” he murmured; then his lips brushed downward and he was kissing her throat. Had she not been clutched to him so tightly, Elsie would likely have slid to the floor, unable to process the sensation of his mouth grazing the hollow above her collarbone. She needed to breathe for a moment, embarrassed over what so little could do to her. She stepped away a bit, raising Charles’ face to hers and kissing him as fiercely as she dared. 

He looked at her, wariness mingled with obvious desire. His (admittedly handsome) suit was still neat and proper, and her patience vanished along with her nerves, swept away by the memory of times she'd seen him with his hair mussed and eyes bleary from sleep. She reached out, unbuttoned his jacket, swiftly followed by his vest, and was momentarily flummoxed by his smart blue tie. Holding her eyes with his, he smiled and slid the knot down just far enough for her to see how it worked. She pulled it the rest of the way free, followed by a shirt button, and she couldn’t help laughing at how silly his starched collar looked. She undid one more button, and she stopped, her breath catching in her throat as she caught her first glimpse of the fine hair that dusted across his chest. 

He mistook her pause yet again. Charles cleared his throat, taking her hands and stepping back slightly. “Elsie, would you perhaps care to, ah, freshen up a bit? Perhaps a bath or -” she pressed her body against his and pulled him down again, opening her mouth under her his. When she released him, a lock of his hair had fallen across his forehead, curling in a charming way that made her think of late nights and firelight. Feeling herself tipping over the edge of a precipice, she summoned the greatest part of her courage and spoke while she undid the rest of his buttons. 

“Charles, please… make me your wife.” She slid a hand across the broad expanse of his chest, reveling in the feel of his warm skin beneath the white cotton undershirt. He sighed, almost inaudibly, and nodded his assent. Wordlessly, he slid her dress down her shoulders, letting it slip off her arms to pool at her feet. She had only a moment to feel self-conscious before his hungry gaze burned away any trace of her embarrassment.

He knelt before her, unbuckling first one shoe then the other, and lightly caressed her hip before unbuckling her garters and slowly - far too slowly - sliding her stockings down her legs. She stepped free of the lot, his steadying hand clasping hers as she stumbled, feeling awkward. He stood again, pulling her to him, her back against his chest. She felt small, dainty even, when cradled by his comforting bulk. It was a pleasantly feminine feeling, overtaken by something far darker and more primal as his palm caressed her hip, her waist, slid across her belly and up to cup her breast. She was suddenly grateful that she’d chosen not to wear a corset, as the thin fabric of her chemise did nothing to disrupt the foreign heat as he took the weight of her in his hand. 

“Oh, Elsie,” he murmured into her ear, moving her towards the bed. She turned and sat on the edge of it, grateful to no longer have to stand under her own power. He bent at the waist to kiss along her neck, pushing her gently down and caressing the side of her breasts with both hands. He pulled away and walked to the other side of the bed, her eyes following his movements with abandon. He slid his dress shirt off of his shoulders, revealing her first glimpse of strong, solid arms. She pressed her lips together, feeling a need she couldn’t name, and before she knew it he’d pulled off his undershirt to reveal a broad expanse of chest. For a moment, she did nothing but stare, before she dared to glance at his face. He smiled, holding her eyes with his and allowing her a moment to catch her breath.

His hands felt to his waist and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying (and failing) not to form a picture from the sound of his trousers sliding to the floor. He lifted the corner of the sheet and slid under the covers, artfully concealing his lower half, and for a moment, Elsie lay frozen atop the duvet, not knowing what came next. 

“Charles, I’m not sure precisely what to do.” He smiled. 

“You’re doing just fine, my darling. Why don’t you climb in here with me?” He pulled back the side of the covers and she rose, her knees slightly weakened as she sought the bedpost to steady herself. Without his arms around her, the room felt cold despite the fire burning in the hearth, and she slid beneath the sheets with a sigh.

The sheets were cool, and soft, much finer than the ones on her bed at Downton. She breathed in the clean scent of the hotel laundry and rolled to her side, seeking the strange and delicious warmth of his body to fight away the chill. Before finally daring to rest her hand on Charles’ chest, her fingertips lightly caressing, Elsie had to swallow a moment of fear. Charles Carson would never judge her, she knew. “Charles, how dare you keep this from me all these years,” she said almost without thinking. 

“I’m sorry, my darling. I’ve been a fool.” His voice broke slightly, and she placed a fingertip upon his lips, shushing him.

“Stop that, Charles, we’re here now.” She cast her gaze across his body, both grateful for and resentful of the sheets that partially concealed him. She thought back to his words from so many weeks ago, and bit back a smile. ‘ _ I might not disapprove of finding my wife a little wanton.’ _ She sat up, and slid the thin straps of her chemise down and over her shoulders, letting it fall to her waist before she lost her nerve. 

She must have startled him, for Charles stared openly at her bare breasts, nearly slack-jawed, and she blushed deeply. 

“Oh come on, it’s not as fine as all that, Charlie.” She’d gone soft through the middle, her breasts large enough to have made her self-conscious as a girl, and her hips wide enough to do so now. Her embarrassment was almost enough to stifle the fire burning within her, but a small laugh escaped his throat before it could.

“Of course you are, you darling, you beautiful minx.” His hands found the small of her back and then his lips were skating across the swell of her breasts, a beautiful torture that was both too much to endure and not nearly enough. A slow, liquid heat began pooling in her stomach, so much deeper than anything she’d ever felt before. He paused, pulling away, and his fingertips came to rest on the puckered scar he’d found. He kissed the spot with a sigh, before pulling the sheets over her chest and settling his head on the pillow next to hers.  

“Elsie,” his voice was quiet. “I need to know that you’re alright.” She swept the hair off his forehead, kissing his furrowed brow. 

“I'm alright, Charles,” she whispered, nestling his head into the crook of her neck and finally, blessedly, combing his thick locks through her fingers. He pulled back again, his fingers trying to trace their own course through her hair, though they're stymied by the pins still holding it in place. His eyes were shining just a bit. In that moment, as in so many others, she felt she knew what he was thinking. He once thought he might lose her. She’d felt the same stab of terror, when he caught the Spanish Flu, but she didn’t want to think of that now. She hushed him gently, smiling into his tearful eyes. Truth be told, she was grateful for the reprieve. The sensations he'd been eliciting from her body were so unfamiliar and intense that she'd nearly felt in danger of fainting.

“I mean it, Elsie. Anything you need, anything you… ” he glanced away “don't want. You have to tell me. Now, tomorrow, forever.” He met her eyes again, the earnestness in them driving a spike of tenderness through her heart. “Elsie, I am not… When I was young, you see…” 

“Hush Charlie. While I am rather inexperienced, I never expected you to be. You will be the first, for me.” Here she let her voice sink lower, her eyes fixing themselves on his lips. “I have never wanted or  _ needed _ someone so much in my life.” She rolled toward him then, pressing him into the mattress, all but groaning aloud at the feel of his chest beneath hers. His lips parted as she sought them with hers, and she let her hands roam freely while his did the same. 

When his tongue ghosted across her lips, she pulled back, surprised before only a moment before she rather clumsily copied the action. His strong hand found the nape of her neck and pulled her more firmly against him, and when their tongues finally met she whimpered through her nose. He rolled them both, partially pinning her beneath his bulk, and she felt for just a moment a hardness against her hip. 

His palm swept across her breasts, lightly rolling a nipple between his fingers and watching her gasp. She panted, desperately choking back her voice, not knowing what she would say if she allowed herself to speak. His hips pressed down against hers and she felt that urgent hardness against her thigh, and she whimpered. Overtaken again by boldness, she slipped a hand down his chest, stomach, and wrapped her fingers around him, eliciting a groan she hoped she’d never forget. 

He was somehow solid and silken all at once, his skin velvety and burning hot beneath her touch. She explored him delicately, feeling her body rock against his, seeking something undefinable and elusive. Charles nosed along her shoulder, one hand clutching aimlessly at her hip as she gently stroked him. 

“Elsie,” his voice was low, soft, and she stilled her movements before meeting his eyes. “Darling,” was all he said, and she smiled, biting her lip and grasping him harder than she had yet dared. A strangled grunt escape him but he didn’t break eye contact, merely blinked in surprise, and she felt strangely powerful. Here was Charles Carson, the unflappable professional, never seen without a stern word or a calculated glance, and he was mussed, speechless, and gasping beneath her touch. What could she do to this man, her husband? What could he now do to her?

He caught her wrist, stilling her movements and sliding his fingers to interlock with hers. He swallowed, chuckled slightly to himself, and he put his lips to her earlobe. 

“Best not, my love, I’d hate to disappoint you. ” The deep rumble of his voice held a promise, one she was eager to see fulfilled. He brought her hand to his chest and laid his own across her stomach. “May I?” She lifted her hips and he slid her chemise down from where the silken fabric had pooled at her waist. The sheets shifted as he sat to remove the garment entirely, and without thought, she rolled her hips toward him, raising a knee so that one leg slipped free. He sighed aloud and laid his hand on her bare thigh. 

He groaned again, his lips on her cheek, as he slowly cupped his hand between her legs. He barely touched her at first, but at the first brush of a finger she let out a soft whine at the silken wetness he found. She turned her head, desperately seeking his mouth, and he kissed her lightly just as he slid a finger into her. He ducked his head to pull a nipple into his mouth and let another digit join the first. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt; at once almost too much sensation and entirely not enough. She gasped aloud, a small cry escaping her, and she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth to muffle the sound. 

“Darling.” He lifted his head and placed his lips just below her ear. “Don’t stifle yourself. Let me hear you.” He did something then, something she could never have described and could hardly endure, and she finally cried aloud. “Yes,” he hissed, breath hot on her neck, and her eyes opened wide as his thumb found the little bud that was hidden between her legs. Her breath came too fast, and her head grew a little light. She reached down and touched his wrist, causing his movements to cease instantly.

“Charles, it’s not enough. Please don’t make me wait any longer.” He removed his hand, causing her to whimper, then braced his hands on either side of her shoulders and shifted so that he was poised above her. His eyes caught hers, and she lifted her hips a little, whining aloud at the foreign sense of him brushing against her. He eased his hips forward, slowly and smoothly, and she choked off a cry as her body yielded to his. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, praying for the pain to cease, fearing it wouldn’t. 

“Elsie.” Charles didn’t move his hips, but he leaned more heavily on one hand and placed the other atop her sternum. “Breathe, my dear, breathe for me now.” She parted her lips and took a shaky breath, then another; the reassuring weight of his hand above her heart was grounding, and as her breathing came easier, so did the pain vanish. She opened her eyes, feeling tears leak from the corners, and met his eyes again at last. 

He was shaking a bit, whether from the effort to hold himself up or from sheer desire she did not know, but he still didn’t move his hips. She pressed a hand to his chest again, running the tips of her fingers lightly through the coarse grey hair, and felt a delicious little clench between her legs. She nodded, holding his eyes with hers, and braced her feet against the bed to move against him. He drew out, then pushed back in slowly, watching her face for signs of discomfort even as he was unable to stifle a deep groan. She pressed her hips upward as he entered her again, acting purely on instinct, and moaned her approval as their pace became fluid and rhythmic rather than halting and unsure. Her pain was entirely forgotten, swallowed up in the consuming fire in her body and heart, and she murmured her love and joy to him even as she gasped for air.

She braced one hand on his shoulder and with the other she clutched at his back, his hip, his hair, anything that could give her purchase. It still wasn't quite enough, though, and she reached to touch herself, seeking pressure  _ just so _ , and almost immediately felt a fresh wave of familiar sensation begin to build. Had she known, in all the time alone she'd spent chasing this, that such a depth of feeling was possible? 

He shifted then, rolling just slightly to one side, and she whined when he slid out just a bit. She realized he was peering down at where their bodies were joined. She jerked her hand away, a hot flush of juvenile embarrassment almost chasing away her consuming lust. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled, afraid to meet his gaze. But he turned her face to his and kissed her long and slow. 

“Mmm, no, love,” he hummed. He took hold of her hand then, drawing it to his lips before taking the first two fingers into his mouth. The tip of tongue danced across her fingertips, and she moaned softly, unable to process the sensation. Then he guided it back down between her legs. “Be my guest.” 

He set the pace anew, and the slightly tilted angles of their bodies gave her better leverage still to meet his thrusts with her own. Soon, however, she was too overcome with her body's responses to do much more than let him drive into her while she desperately held to him and trembled. She muffled her cries against his bare shoulder as best she could, eyes screwed shut and thoughts only on the sound and sight and smell of him; almost as if she were alone in her spartan room at Downton after a late night drinking sherry. 

“Elsie.” His voice was calm, if ragged, and he pulled away again. “Look at me, my darling.” Her eyes snapped open, and there he was, strong and real and  _ hers _ , finally hers. He grabbed her leg and hooked it up around his hip, tipping her pelvis a bit, and the new angle quite suddenly pushed her past the point of no return. Their eyes were locked together as her brow knit, and she clutched at shoulder again with the hand not occupied between her legs. A series of guttural moans escaped her, and he bore his teeth in an almost feral grin. 

“Yes, yes Elsie, come for me, my love, let me see you, let me hear you, let me feel you,” he pleaded, and at last her body stilled, then spasmed, heat unspooling out from her belly as she shook and called his name. He rode through it, never once breaking eye contact, and she saw how close he must be. He tried to slow his pace as her trembling stopped, slowing his breathing to match hers, but she jerked her hips and was gratified by the shocked gasp this earned her. 

“Well now, Mr. Carson, it isn't like you to leave a job half-finished.” She arched an eyebrow and did her best to sound stern, even though she felt loose-limbed and sleepy. 

“Of course not, Mrs. Hughes, I do apologize.” She locked both legs up around his hips, which earned another startled sound deep from within his chest, and she buried her face against his shoulder again, tasting the salt of his skin.  He let more of his weight pin her down and drove into her harder, hard enough to hurt a little, but for some reason she relished the pain. Just when it was becoming almost more than she could bear, without thinking she bit down onto the meaty flesh of his shoulder and he shouted, thrust once more, and spilled into her. 

The feel of him against her, spasming and gasping, could almost have made her come again right then. She kissed her way up his throat, softly so as to apologize for the damage she might have done with her teeth, and he captured her lips with his. It was brief, for they were breathing too hard to linger. He whispered “I love you” over and over while she did the same, gasping for air and trying to calm her racing heart. Before long, though, she shifted uncomfortably beneath his bulk. He pulled out of her, which made her wince, and rolled aside just enough to let her breathe. 

They stared at each other through suddenly-bleary eyes, blinking slowly. Their bodies were still entangled, and in the soft firelight, he looked as young as he had when they'd first met. She rubbed his legs with her feet, feeling sleep threatening to steal over her. 

“Mmm, you've done me in, you Scottish witch.” She laughed weakly, then sighed, draping her left arm over his chest. He rubbed her arm a moment, then kissed the back of her hand, murmuring “be right back, Elsie.” She whined and curled up into the spot he'd just vacated, dozing lightly. She distantly heard the tap running in the small ensuite bathroom, and moments later he climbed back into bed bearing a warm, damp cloth. 

“Ah, yes, thank you.” She smiled, only slightly disappointed to see that he’d donned a robe while in the other room. He smiled and inclined his head slightly, that sinful curl of hair falling down over his brow again. 

“I live to serve, my lady.” She rolled her eyes at that, wondering how she’d be able to take him seriously in the future when she could now quite accurately picture him insensate with pleasure. He then quite diplomatically turned away to fold his clothes, meticulously re-creasing the trousers and draping them over the dresser. She quickly cleaned herself off, then slipped out of bed and padded to the water closet herself.

She’d forgotten to be embarrassed, and she managed to feel rather coy as she glanced over her shoulder to catch him staring at her. The look in his eye was enough to make even her exhausted toes curl, and she smiled broadly before sliding shut the pocket door to relieve herself. 

When she came back out a few minutes later, he’d switched the overhead lights off and climbed back into bed. He was already dozing, and she slipped into bed naked beside him. The sheets were too fine and cool to bother searching for her bedclothes. In his near-sleep he pulled her close, skin against skin, and she pressed a kiss to his half-open lips. 

“Good night, Charles, I love you. 

“Elsie, my wife, I love you too.” 

The last thing she saw before she dropped off at last was the beatific face of her sleeping husband.


End file.
